Symphony of the Sea
by ohgleegasms
Summary: AU fanfic of Chuck x Serena, post-season 2. My raw emotion, poured into an artistic interpretation of my favorite GG couple. Rated M for sexual themes.
1. Preface

To begin: I own nothing. I do not own Gossip Girl, nor the characters Chuck Bass, Serena van der Woodsen, Blair Waldorf, Dan Humphrey, or their mentioned family members. I merely own my writing, my interpretation, my expression. That being said:

Since my story is now complete, I felt it necessary to write a brief preface. This may clear up some confusion for many, especially those unfamiliar with Gossip Girl.

My story takes place at the conclusion of season 2. For those who were watching as avidly as myself, it is known that Serena and Dan were in love, as were Blair and Chuck. Now granted I won't spoil for those who are unaware, but I will say this – my story is completely AU, and does not follow precisely how the second season ended.

However, my story goes as follows. Serena and Chuck still share the same roof, since his late father was her mother's husband. Rufus and Lily are now living together, and have taken a 'family vacation' to the Hamptons. Blair has chosen Nate over Chuck, and Dan has abandoned Serena for his distrust of her, and a disliking of her friends. Both are mourning, though secretly so, over the losses of the one they love.

The beginning is a dream; it becomes more clear as the reading continues. Chuck's dream fades, bringing him to a new reality – fulfilling my own fantasy of these two connecting. So, it is with sincere hope in my heart that you enjoy this. It's written with my own passion, intermingled with the emotions of my past, and my present. Abstract, yes. Confusing, perhaps. But deeply heart-felt, passionate and entirely driven by raw emotion? You bet.

Before you read forward, be forewarned that there is mature content. Please advise yourself before reading, should this type of writing offend you. Otherwise, I do hope you enjoy my interpretation of a potential Chuck and Serena moment as much as I enjoy writing it.

All my love,

Tori


	2. Chapter 1

The dark of nightfall comes alive, electrified with bolts of lightning that create jagged paths across an everlasting darkness. Pain and anguish – regret and suffering – torture his aching, dying soul. It is insufferable to imagine, to comprehend, the faith he had placed in another; the one who had bruised his heart. He had loved her, he had given himself fully – in utmost devotion to her. He was the beast – the one who could not love, the one with a stony heart. He was everything cold, everything forsaken, everything evil.

For one being, he had given up the world of lavish desire.  
For his trouble, he had lost his life.

A crepuscular haze lingers over the sand, hanging low above the topography that shifts and is shaped by the wind. Through the mists that swirl comes forth darkness – a storm empowered by the goddess Calypso – a storm that rides on the waves and unleashes its fury upon the shores. The goddess, the she-devil, beckons to him in his hour of weakness, enticing him, begging him to fall into her arms of feigned love – the arms that wish to smother him, murder him, choke his emotion.

She wishes for his death.

Entranced by her calling, the harpy cries of sea birds resonating on angry winds that whip across the desolate beach, he moves closer, enticed. Her waves rise and fall, cresting to their peaks in a flourish of white foam – the tides rising higher as the pending storm unfolds. As though in a daze he moves forward, dark eyes glazed over as though in sleep; but he is awake, aware of his potential doom that awaits within her churning seas.

But who is Chuck Bass?  
Surely not one to deny any woman of his touch.

Engrossed, captivated by her calling for him, she whispers on the wind – whispers his name. She moves closer, her tidepools gathering at his feet as he crosses the dunes. Bare feet sink into the sands of time, enveloping the tender skin with their grainy embrace. The first touch of cold water is brisk, abrupt. He jolts slightly, panic clutching his heart as reality settles within his mind, laden with angst. But she, the enticing whore – the harlot sea that cries for him – she beckons, and he obliges. Knee-deep in her pools of icy water, silhouetted against a night sky decorated with brilliantly fading stars and yet clouded by the pending storm, his mind loses reality.

Deeper he travels, numbness settling over him.

Lower limbs lose sensation first, tingling then cutting themselves off. Soon follows his torso – his hips (how good it felt for her to grasp them in their last embrace), his stomach, his chest and arms follow as he wanders into the depths. Eyes close as his lips purse, kissing the sea, kissing her tenderly (as he once kissed his beloved, but only in dreams?) before he falls to his knees to be swallowed by her.

- - -

Cold sweat, sticky lather that clings to every inch of his skin, covers Chuck as he shudders awake from the nightmare that had tortured his mind. Gasping for breath, he clutches the satin sheets upon which he had been lying – tugging them to his chest in a moment of anguished torment. Dark eyes are wide – fear-filled and desperate – as he lets their gaze dart to and fro across the room. The pounding of his heart, his blood rising in his veins, echoes within his mind.

Nothing but a dream.  
But this is not the first he's had.

Since arriving to the Hamptons with the van der Bass/Humphrey family but one week prior, nightmares haunted his every moment's rest. Vaguely, he could remember the past weeks – prom, Blair Waldorf, graduation, Blair Waldorf, misery, Blair Waldorf. The thought, mere mention of her name within the chasms of his mind, brings his knees to weaken – though he sits upon his bed. The insufferable name, the unbearable notion of losing her (Nathaniel, Nathaniel, how has time found it appropriate to bless you?); it has become too much for his young mind to handle.

He came here to escape – but he will never be free from the haunting of his heart's desire.

Lying back against the bed, breathing slowly returning to normal, Chuck closes his eyes. He tries to settle himself – tries to relieve the tension from his every limb. His skin is chilled as a gentle night zephyr filters through his open window, caressing his skin. As he listens, the sounds of the sea – only yards from his window of his vacation retreat – welcome his ears. Gentle purrs of the waves, lapping peacefully at the shores. No gulls cry, for night overpowers their will to wake. Only silence – silence intermingled with the soft, near inaudible sobbing of a mourning soul.

Recognition settles over him and he slowly sits upright, reaching for his robe before silently retreating from his room – in search of the creator of the sound he has learned to recognize so well…


	3. Chapter 2

Golden curls cascade in a tumultuous fashion, framing the tear-stained cheeks that peek out from between tendrils of the long mane that is the envy of so many. Knees are drawn to her chest, sobs echoing against her kneecaps – muffled by her hands that attempt to suppress the sounds of her raging agony. Body shudders as she gasps, catching her breath before leaning back against the wall. Glistening eyes cast a forlorn gaze to the sea – peaceful, serenely whispering to her on the gentle summer's breeze. Navy hued eyes glance down to the sand that unfolds from the back porch, extending far beyond her comprehension. A full moon, brilliant and bright, directs her gaze with pallid beams that dance across the dunes. She sniffles, trying to find a sense of calm.

He is not worth her tears.

He is nothing but a pauper – a façade – a fraud.

Perched atop the windowseat, she extends her long, toned legs (such beauty that emanates from every pore – perfection at its finest) before her, feeling her bare toes press and pry against the window screen. Pressure, she winces before she hears the -click- of victory as the screen wobbles, then topples lifelessly to the sandy backyard, two stories below her. Precariously perching herself upon the sill, she then, so delicately, dances out from the window – onto the flattened roof beyond.

It is then that he slips into her room;

just in time to see the graceful nymph's waltz.

Dark gaze watches her, body moving to the window. He is captivated, caught breathless as he observes. Serena van der Woodsen arabesques, putting on a show for the moonlight – and her observer. Forgotten is Blair; forgotten is the forsaken love. Forgotten, neglected are his emotions – the fear, the pain, the angst. He sees beauty, beauty unfolding before him. Tears stain her porcelain skin, tainting each cheek – trails of sorrow (the memories – the anguish she feels!) that pour the emotion from within her heart. She is misery, she is mourning – she is beautiful.

He cannot move – he is riveted, possessed, transfixed.

Unaware of his watchful eyes, she continues to move. Her window, forgotten – as are the limits of human nature also cast aside. Instead, she lets nature possess her as she dances to a song within her mind, within her heart. Arms rise over her head she spins, pivoting on her right foot as she extends her left before her body. Nimble, she leaps from the roof to its edge, toes curling over the peak as she maintains perfect balance. She sways, then finds her feet as she leaps once more, dancing.

She is humming to herself, mourning her loss, mourning her pathetic pauper.  
Then her eyes open – she gasps and sees him.

Mouth forms an 'o' of surprised as navy eyes widen, pallid moonlight illuminating them, expressing her shock. "Chuck," she breathes softly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "What are you doing here?" she asks, tone switching to that of accusatory – realizing he should not be in her bedroom. Though he might have heard her dancing on the roof above his head, he need not intrude. "Go to bed," she pleads softly, brushing tears from her cheeks (though she cannot hide her sorrow from him, for it is too late) as she cowers, lingering near the roof's edge once more.

Should she move too close, he'd surely see her swollen eyes, her shame and guilt and hollow gaze of misery.

Steadily he stares, watching her. His eyes fade from their glossy entrancement, enchanted by her. He counters her question by pointing accusingly beyond the windowpanes. "You're dancing on my bed," he murmurs softly, "I'd much rather you dance within the sheets than on the roof above me." He notes her scowl, that fades to a mournful grimace. Exhaling, he slips onto the window seat and sits upon the sill; one foot on the roof, one within her room upon the seat to steady himself. "Serena," he whispers to her, voice fading on the gentle breeze that caresses them both. "You are much too beautiful to mourn over one pathetic ounce of Brooklyn trash." His tone is both gentle and chastising – both caring and apathetic. How he can balance the two, she'll never know.

Mystery and confusion – her two greatest friends as of late.  
She wonders, wonders why he lingers so near to her – why does he care?

"I loved him," she whispers, voice breaking at the ending she places upon the word 'love.' She knows in her heart that she loves him, even now. But the past tense, the fixation of being incapable of having him, it shatters her heart, her being, her true entity. What is she without love? She is nothing – she is broken, she is fading, disappearing, sinking. Lower lip quivers, voice faltering as she tries to continue. "It hurts, you know," she says softly as she approaches him, no longer afraid. She will not shatter at the touch of the devil – the nymph welcomes him to disrupt her dance. Delicate hand extends, fingers tracing along his knuckles a moment as she exhales, a sad sigh leaving her lips. Expression of confusion flees from her pleading eyes, studying his a moment. "You do know," she adds softly, empathy now flooding her gaze as well.

He nods, silent as his thoughts prevail. Her touch is warm, alluring. He shakes his head though – she is Serena. She is beauty, perfection – his step-sister. She is Blair's best friend, she is everything he could never have. Teeth sink into his lower lip as he considers, shrugging – as though it is nothing (though they both know his heart is bruising, breaking). "It's fine S," he responds, attempting to sound nonchalant. But his words are not strong, not convincing. "I worry about you," he admits softly, glancing into her eyes. "You are too good for him."

Silence falls between them – the devil and the golden haired angel – mourning their losses in company.


	4. Chapter 3

Long, slender fingers twiddle and writhe as she remains lost in thought; transfixed momentarily on the words that leave her dark-haired companion. It wasn't long ago that skepticism would have risen within her had anyone even insinuated that Chuck Bass could love anyone; that he could have a heart. Navy eyes blink away the remnants of fallen tears; shed in the honor of Dan Humphrey. She swallows, trying to erase the huge lump that has formed within her throat. She nods - hearing, but not listening. "But I loved him," she replies feebly, biting down on her tongue before she says anything further.

She always receives such skepticism when she admits to loving him;  
what is so wrong with loving someone from Brooklyn?

His dark eyes narrow, brows furrowing together for a moment as he studies her. Silhouetted in the moonlight, her hair is illuminated in a pallid golden hue – radiating like a halo, the sign of angels. Though he knows Serena is hardly an angel, he cannot help but admire her; she has not let go of love when it's true – which is more than he can say for Blair. Lips purse, trying to find something to say. Finally, he submits; subjecting himself to agree with a notion he disliked. "I know." Shifting his weight, he leans back against the frame of the open window – the pane is killing his tailbone, but he doesn't wish to impede upon Serena's space – her moonlit dance floor. "But – sometimes," he begins, trying to justify the means, "sometimes love isn't always what we think it will be, Serena. Sometimes love – well, sometimes it'll just knock us down. You and I – we're not the types of people to fall in love and settle down, especially so young." He chuckles softly. Though her reputation did not exceed his, Serena was notorious for partying, way back in the day – before she moved away, before she met Dan. Hand extends to reach out, caressing the skin on her cheek – perhaps more delicately than he intends (or does he wish to sway her mind – to end his loneliness?). He watches her, hint of a smile trickling across his features. "Come on, S, what's that saying from that stupid show you girls all love, Grey's something? No man defines who you are…?"

Smile appears, fleetingly, across her features as she looks into his eyes. "You watch Grey's Anatomy, Chuck? Good God, what has Blair done to you?" she asks; her tone teasing, light-hearted. It is the first genuine smile she has bestowed upon anyone for as long as she can remember; not forced, not fake. Shaking her head, she continues to chuckle deep in her throat as she glances away from him, casting her gaze to the sea. "You know what we need?" she asks suddenly, glancing back to him. Her eyes sparkle with delight – amusement like what which she possessed as a young teenager. Reaching out, she grabs onto his hand and she tugs upon it, standing upright. "Come on," she begs him, giggling now.

"S, shut up, you're going to wake your mom and Rufus," he chides, but he stands up nonetheless. Begrudgingly, he permits her to lead him onto the roof, though questions dance across his face. "What are you doing?" he asks, brow arching as he delivers a skeptical look in her direction.

But he vows he will follow her – he knows he cannot drown in his sorrows forever.

Blonde hair dances against her shoulders as she perches on the edge of the rooftop, beaming. "Jump," she says to him before she squeezes his hand. "At the count of three, jump!" She braces herself, ignoring the bewildered look upon his face. Eyes pinch shut, hand tightening over his before she begins to count. "One… two…"

She yells the word 'three' a bit louder than he hoped, but he feels the world shifting as he follows her lead, leaping limitlessly from the rooftop. With a gentle thud, they both land upon the dune beneath her window and he finds himself smiling as Serena laughs. Her laugh, so genuine – so happy… it sets him at ease. Brow quirks as he watches her, standing up to brush the sand from his knees. "You really just had me jump off the roof," he observes casually, shaking sand from his hair. "Now what, brilliant one? You don't have your key, I'm guessing, and neither do I."

Interrupting any further words that may flee from his lips, she leaps to her feet and, ignoring the sand that clings to her body, she takes his hand once more. "We need to have fun," she says, "so I'm glad we forgot keys. Let's go!"

Releasing his hand, she turns – fleeing from him. He watches a moment, captivated as she begins her dance again, dancing over the dunes, giggling and singing (her own version of something by Britney Spears, he's not caring enough to pay heed); beautiful, elegant.

Forgotten is Blair, for the moment, as he follows her – slowly walking over the dunes, eyes never leaving Serena's pirouetting frame.


	5. Chapter 4

Lilting tune echoes through her mind, intermittently interrupted by the gentle wooing of the sea as it dances and rocks against the waves. Arms lift, poised above her head as she pivots upon one toe – dancing as she might imagine a ballerina to do so. She then freezes, trapped in his gaze. Like a deer caught in headlights she stares at him before a smile breaks across her features. "Come on Chuck," she calls out to him. She then moves closer, like a ghost across the misty dunes. Midnight passed but an hour before, and the full moon is large, hanging just past the midway point of nightfall. Pallid hues scatter across her skin, across the white nightgown that clings to her, hugging every curve, cutting off somewhere between her knees and her thighs.

Forgotten is Blair, forgotten is the past;  
what beauty and myths stand here before him!

Her hand is offered and he takes it; accepting the warm embrace. He imagines this is a dream; pure heaven. When he wakes, disappointment shall be his but for now, he will relish in the moment. Squeezing her tiny hand, lithe fingers, he chuckles. "You, Serena, are something else," he states casually. She is beauty, she is perfection. There is a mystique surrounding her tonight – perhaps she is drunk, drunk off the world's finest vodka, drunk off abandoned love. But she is under the influence of something, intoxicated by the poison of emotion – and he is drunk off her grace and sheer elegance in mourning.

Madness – it is madness that intoxicates them both tonight.

She forgets herself, dropping the notion of Dan without question. Her eyes are lost in the gaze of the one who watches her, the one who observes but never participates in her dance. The angel, the nymph of the seas; she dances so elegantly for the devil, the one whose heart has been stolen.

For a moment, she is Calypso and he is the master of the seas – Davy Jones seeking redemption.

Angel of beauty pulls him closer, drawing him near to her. Bodies touch for the first time as she closes in around him. Right hand slowly leaves his, crawling up his chest to rest upon the back of his neck. Left hand lingers within his own, lifting it – poised to waltz. She speaks nothing, but he begins to lead – taking control on the dunes as he would on the ballroom floor, or within the sheets. Together they move, as one unified entity, welded together in perfect harmony. She hums softly, a melody drowned out by the calling of the sea, its beckoning growing louder as they dance down the dunes, nearing the water's edge.

Her cheek presses to his and his dark eyes closed, lulled by her tender touch.  
Madness – sheer madness – this cannot be!

"Chuck," she breathes against his skin, pulling away, but only slightly. Slender waist is now in his clenches, tugged closer to his body as they move together. Smile flickers across her features and though he does not return it, he is smiling inwardly. Then she arches forward, upward on the balls of her feet, as their lips meet. Tender kiss, gift from the heavens, is pressed to his lips – enticing, passionate, endearing. His mind comes blank, memories sweeping over him. But memories of Blair? – oh no, to be forsaken! He dreams instead of a time past, a time where he once professed his love for someone with beauty that, at the moment, far exceeded that of the petite brunette.

_On one knee he knelt before her, sincerity reflecting in his eyes. He croons and pleas with her, that the kiss she had given him was of true love, true adoration. He knows this now – knows that she was intended for him. Forever. But she giggles and shies from him, denying him the affection he wishes to bestow._

Now, dreams can come true;  
can't they?

Sighing wistfully as she pulls away, his eyes open and lips quirk slightly as he arches a brow to her. "The Hamptons are not close enough to West Virginia for such sibling affection, S," he teases. But her dark eyes, heavily lidded and burning with emotion, do not fade nor narrow. Drunk, intoxicated with lust, she purrs a soft response, barely audible against his ear.

"But tonight, we are in paradise."


	6. Chapter 5

Oh, those words she whispers so fervently, so passionately, leave his body to shiver as goose bumps prickle their way down his arms. "Serena," he whispers, her name faltering in the wind as it gently blows against their swaying frames. His lips then purse as head ducks downward, finding hers. He seeks them with fervor, with hope, with lustful desire that swells within his chest. Hand that rests upon her waist tugs her closer to him, drawing her petite frame against his muscular one as they dance. It has slowed, the rhythm, to the point that they are barely moving, just a hint of the waltz clinging on one last shred of desperate hope.

The sea purrs softly to them, the harlot sea, the whore; alluring, enticing, seducing…

Her feet touch the water first, bare feet sinking into the wet sands as they dance. A gentle wave skims the loose topography, splashing upon her ankles, embracing them, then skittering away before she can step further. Into the tide pools she lets him guide her, the two figures continuing to dance. His thin grey shirt clings to his upper body while the loose-fitting pants he wears shimmer in the moonlight, the onyx silk smoothly reflection pallid hues from the heavens. In stark contrast, the pure white of her satin nightgown flutters on the gentle breeze, bare legs (so enticing, such sin upon which to look!) guiding her movements, so elegantly dancing with him.

Cool water caresses their skin as soundlessly they continue to dance. Her hand strays from the base of his neck, slowly trailing down his chest. She feels his own hand tightening its grip, now palming the small of her back as his fingers dabble so precariously at the rise of her hips, that enticing curve leading downward from her spine. Fingertips press against her skin, gripping her ass as he pulls her body against his. Lips ferociously meet hers, ravenous for another kiss from her. She gives it, so willingly, to him.

Sin is so beautiful when its committed in the secrecy of nightfall;  
where only the ocean and moon are witnesses.

Deeper into the water she wades, tugging him along with her. Their bodies collide as a swell lifts her body, crashing it against his own. He holds her tightly now – the sea is calm, though unpredictable. The sands shift beneath their weight but she ignores it completely. He is more cautious – something that is of rare form for Chuck, who is usually irrational when it comes to this sensation of desire, of sex – clinging tightly so she does not trip. But she cares not, casting all thoughts of sensibility aside as she lets her hands leave him for a moment. Pulling back the long, tangled mane of blonde curls that skims her back on the wind, she pulls it back with the use of a rubber band before she lets her fingers seek his skin.

Skimming his chest with the pads of all ten fingers, they trail from his collarbone toward his stomach. She smiles faintly as she reaches where the shirt ends and pants begin, and she parts the fabrics. Such contrast between cotton and silk, she savors the feeling of silk against her skin as she toys with the string that ties his pants, confining her from him. Focus shifts once more, returning to the fading, thin cotton as she lifts it, peeling the shirt from his body. Bare skin prickles at first touch of the brisk air and she smoothes it with one palm while removing his shirt completely with the other. Dropping the grey article to the waves, she giggles softly. "Oops," she whispers before leaning in to kiss him again.

Desire causes her to need him, desire causes her to never cease;  
she will not rest until he touches her.

Breath caught deep in his chest, he feels her hands all over his bare skin. She is torturous in her actions, and he is prepared to wake at any moment with a painful erection and a lack of affection. But each passing second leaves him in the wake of reality; no fantasy present here. He imagines that when reality is shot to shit, fantasy takes over, creating a world that one desires, that one longs for, that one needs. It is fantasy that often replaces the pain of humanity, the ache of reality. But now he is living a dream – fantasy come to life as his hands slowly crawl down her sides. The curve of her hips makes his heart race, already turned on by her gentle touch and perfect figure.

He cannot suppress his need to have her.

Fingers sought the lace fringe that decorates her satin nightgown and he toys with it gingerly, giving her a coy smile. She mimics it, right brow arching as though presenting a challenge to him. "Tease," she mutters softly as he releases it, hands returning to trail along her body. But she is frozen in her accusations, words hanging on the now-still air as each hand cups one of her full breasts; his eyes admiring their shape.

"You truly are perfection, S. A perfection that needs to be tainted," he whispers against her cheek as his index fingers each trace along her areolas, feeling the nipples (and her skin, perfect skin prickling with pleasure) react to his touch. She moans softly then, and the sound is enough to make him want to throw her down upon the bed and fuck her until he can no longer move. However, the lolling seas and the sheer nature, the bestial nature of fucking her here amongst the waves, has distracted him. Hands lower from her full curvature, trailing down along her hips, then inward – delicately tracing just along the outside of her core, the pinpoint center of her pleasure center. He feels her body grow rigid as his fingers press intently against the satin panties that she wears, already soaked from the water into which they have waded – intensifying his touch threefold.

"Chuck," she whispers to him as she feels his hands covering her, teasing her. Right leg lifts slightly, wrapping itself around his own leg while still remaining poised upright. Hips grind themselves upward and against his body, as though trying to force his fingers where she desires him most. But he begrudgingly pulls away, shaking his head.

Chastisement won't flee from his lips;  
but perfection can never be rushed.

"Patience baby," he growls against her ear as he leans in to nibble it, tongue flicking the lobe gingerly. She shudders against him and he smirks against her skin, content. He is torturing her, success is his! She groans again as he pulls away, now focusing on the lace trim once more. He then pulls upward and the nightgown shifts itself before slowly peeling up, away from her body. Her arms lift almost mechanically – delicate as she had when she danced earlier – while he removes it. Moon, as it lowers in the sky, silhouettes her perfection – every curve kissed by the pallid moon, making her look all the more inviting.

Painful pleasure, it swells within him as he watches her, lust filled and craving.

Taking her into his arms, they sway and move, bare breasts from her chest leaning against his as they cling to one another, dancing the unknown dance of two forsaken lovers, bruised lovers, forgotten lovers. In their misery comes harmony in the song they now write – the symphony of the sea, of bruised love and of damaged hearts.


	7. Chapter 6

Darkness envelopes them as they sway to a waltz of the seas, immersed in their heated lust for one another. His greedy hands cover her body, seeking every inch, every ounce of her smooth skin. Selfish lips steal kisses from hers as he slides his hands up her stomach, touching her breasts lovingly – filled with infatuation. She moans softly against his lips, writhing as the waves gently rock them. Her pleas, silent pleas begging for more bring him closer to fulfilling her fantasy. One hand strays, trailing downward along her stomach – fingers tracing her hipbone before slowly, painfully slowly peeling the satin, sea-soaked panties from her body.

Desperation; filled with wanton desire she reaches for him,  
fingers hungrily touching every inch of him.

Pants fall beneath the surface of the water, onyx silk disappearing with the guidance of her hands as she pushes them from his waist. Smile traces over her features, eyes illuminated by moonlight as she stares at him a moment. Another gentle swell of a wave guides them closer together, bodies magnetized, propelled into one another's arms. Navy eyes roll upward as she gasps; his fingers continuing to travel along her skin – two arching upward, inching deeper, disappearing into folds and chasms of darkness that have been left untouched for so long.

Pleasure – it is pleasure that captivates her soul;  
raw desire, nature calling for more.

Moans intermingle with the gentle purring of the sea as greedy hands, selfish hands that they are, seal pleasure with one another. Labored breathing intermittently interrupts the moans, his own lips sealing around her right breast as he teases her, tortures her. Tongue flicks against the tender mound of flesh, her cries of adoration resonating from parted lips – howling her desperation to the heavens. Her fingertips dig themselves against the flesh of his shoulders, rocking her body against his touch, his touch deep within her core that was once so hollow, now reeling with pleasure.

She shudders, castaway thoughts fading as satisfaction rolls over her body. Figure tenses, her screams swallowed by the seas as she sinks lower, lower into the water. Kisses trail along his stomach, down to his waist – but she stops before she falls. Hands continue where she left off, fingers toying with him, teasing and tormenting him. He gasps for air and together, they move, her hands leading the way.

Impatience prevails – patience is never a kind guest to Chuck Bass.

Insufferably hard, penetration comes quickly; sheltered within the wet, passionately warm labyrinth of her core. Lips collide as their bodies intertwine, following the rhythm created by the sea – the harlot sea, the whorish harlot who is laced with seduction and lust. He moans against her lips and she echoes, throbbing from his torturous efforts of before, accompanied with the thickness (so hard, painfully hard; pleasing every inch within) with which he pleases.

Moments pass, minutes fading into more time that flickers, fades, dies – but their heated passion seems everlasting. Moving as one, unified body corrupting the purity of this peaceful night, their joyous calls of pleasure ring out against the seas, against the heavens, along the dunes. Caring not for who can hear, they rejoice in their companionship.

Forgotten are the shattered hearts;  
remembered is the lust of old.

As climax becomes evident, persistently they move, savoring their moment together. It never could have happened, never should have – but it has. Enticed by the forbidden nature, driven by sorrow, they mourn together; mourn their losses but suffer no defeat. Her cry comes first; he holds back until he knows she is fulfilled, feeling her collapse weakly into her arms. Then comes his, moaning softly against her skin as they kiss once more, devastated by the energy put forth into their emotion.

Crawling; together they crawl, emerging from the sea together,  
collapsing onto the sand together.

Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, they cuddle together; remnants of their clothes scattered across sand and sea. Two sets of eyes watch as the sky fades, darkness disappearing as it is replaced by the first pink hues of sunrise; golden rays delivered forth in orange hues as morning dawns upon the shore. Two bodies, once unified now own separate entities again, cuddle together. Forgotten are the memories, forgotten is the pain. With new days come new life; with new life comes new opportunities.

Together they rest, relaxing, at peace;  
listening to the symphony of the sea.

- f i n -


End file.
